Jordan's hoodie is draped over Arya's desk chair. One of his sketchpads is open on the floor beside the bed, forgotten. A single sneaker is under her bed. His socks are mismatched.

They're curled up on opposite ends of the bed, but their legs are tangled like even in sleep they couldn't quite let go.

Arya is the first to stir, blinking through sleep, her face turned toward the soft pink hue seeping through the blinds. There's something in the silence, a warmth, a stillness that feels unfamiliar. Not uncomfortable. Just... new.

Jordan's eyes are already open. He's watching her like he doesn't want to blink and miss anything.

She whispers, "Have you been awake this whole time?"

He nods once. Then, a quiet, "I didn't want to forget what this felt like."

Her breath catches. Not because of the words, but because of the way he says them, gentle, like he means them too much.

He sits up slowly, legs crossed, hair wild, voice barely above a whisper. "I think I'm in love with you."

No theatrics. No smirk. No dodge-the-feeling joke. Just him, bare, and terrified, and honest.

Arya doesn't respond right away. She just watches him, eyes wide and heart suddenly, undeniably full.

And then she laughs. Not at him, not to deflect, but the kind of laugh that bubbles up when your chest gets too full of emotion and it spills over.

"You think?" she teases softly.

He groans and drops his head into his hands. "Don't do that. Don't make it funny."

She moves, slowly, crawling across the space between them. Knees brushing his. Palms on his cheeks. Foreheads pressed close.

"I know," she says. "I know I'm in love with you."

Jordan blinks, breath stuttering.

"And I'm so scared," Arya adds, softer this time. "Because you're you. And I'm me. And this feels like the part where everything should catch fire."

He smiles, crooked, sleepy, awed. "What if it doesn't burn this time?"

Outside, the light shifts, pale gold creeping into the room like a quiet promise.

Arya leans into his chest. Jordan wraps his arms around her like she's the only thing that's ever made sense. No kiss. No rush. Just warmth. Heartbeats. Breathing in sync.

And then, from somewhere against his shoulder, she murmurs, "I used to think love would be loud. Like crashing cymbals or thunder or yelling in the rain."

Jordan rests his chin on her head. "But?"

She closes her eyes. "But this feels like... sunlight. Like standing still and finally warming up."

He doesn't say anything. He just tightens his grip on her like he agrees. Like he's known it all along.